


Good Boy

by summerprincess (notjustalittlegirl)



Category: Engelsforstrilogin | The Engelsfors Trilogy - Mats Strandberg & Sara Bergmark Elfgren
Genre: Dom/sub, Guilt, Human Furniture, Hurt/Comfort, Kneeling, M/M, Non-Sexual Submission, Post-Canon, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-20
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-07-14 22:35:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16049951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustalittlegirl/pseuds/summerprincess
Summary: "Gustaf," he said, avoiding his eyes in embarrassment. He took a deep breath, bracing himself for rejection."I need you to punish me."





	Good Boy

**Author's Note:**

> My titles keep getting worse and worse. 
> 
> i don't own Cirkeln, or the characters, and i am making no money off of this as it is purely for entertainment purposes.
> 
> Enjoy!

Rickard Johnsson was, for lack of a better expression, a broken man. He couldn't sleep at night, he couldn't stop seeing the two faces. Ida, who he had all but killed. Olivia, who he still loved. It had been months, but he couldn't forget. 

The nightmares were terrible whenever he did manage to get some sleep, and so he preferred not to. His family's coffee machine had gotten a lot of use, Rickard restoring to stronger and stronger doses of caffeine to keep himself awake. He knew that there were rings around his eyes, and that his breath probably smelled like coffee.

So, when Gustaf called him up and asked him to go kick around a soccer ball, Rickard knew exactly why his friend's eyes widened, and why Gustaf grabbed his shoulders, surveying his face.

"Jesus, Rickard! What the fuck happened to you?"

Rickard just shrugged his shoulders. "I just didn't sleep that well last night."

He knew that Gustaf wouldn't buy that lie for a second, and indeed he didn't.

"Bullshit, Johnsson. You look like you haven't slept in a year. What's going on?"

Rickard shrugged again, but let Gustaf take hold of his shoulders and lead him into the car. When the door shut behind them, Gustaf turned to Rickard.

"Tell me, Rickard. What's bothering you?"

Rickard bit his lip, trying to figure out what or how much he should say.

On one hand, Rickard knew that he didn't deserve to tell anyone, didn't deserve to have that weight lifted from his shoulders. On the other hand, Gustaf was really one of the only people that he  _could_ tell. 

As he wrestled with it in his mind, Gustaf sat patiently and waited. Eventually, Rickard's desire to tell  _someone_ won out, and all he said was "P.E."

That was all he needed to say for Gustaf to understand. 

"Oh, Rickard," Gustaf sighed, reading across the seats and laying a hand on his shoulder.

"What can I do for you?"

Rickard bit his lips, unsure. He hadn't truly been thinking about how he could help himself, nevermind what anyone else could do to help him. 

"I don't know."

Gustaf removed his hand from Rickard's shoulder and put it on the wheel of the car.

"Do you want to go to my place?"

He nodded, and Gustaf stepped on the gas.

When they arrived, it was to find no one else there, which was just as well. The two went upstairs to Gustaf's room, and by the time they got there, Rickard knew how Gustaf could help him. 

"Gustaf," he said, avoiding his eyes in embarrassment. He took a deep breath, bracing himself for rejection.

"I need you to punish me."

"What do you mean, punish you?"

Gustaf didn't seem to be angry, just curious. Rickard closed his eyes, and spoke.

"I need to be hit, please, I need to be hurt."

Gustaf couldn't quite keep the surprise from his voice or eyes. 

"Is this... Is this a sexual thing? Because you know that I'm with Minoo."

"I know, I'm sorry! It's not sexual, I swear, but nevermind, I'm find, it's-"

"Woah, woah. Breathe, Rickard. It's okay. If it's not sexual, it's okay."

Rickard could barely believe his ears. This was the answer that he had been hoping for, but he had absolutely not been expecting. 

Gustaf pulled his phone from his pocket. "I'm going to go call Minoo, okay? I won't tell her about you, but I wouldn't feel right about doing this unless I tell her. When I get back, I want for you to be kneeling without anything but your boxers on, okay?"

Rickard nodded, immediately scrambling to obey. He was ready long before Gustaf returned. He was kneeling on the carpet in front of a chair in the room, clothes strewn about on the floor and eyes downcast. 

"Good job," a voice said, and Rickard felt a hand in his hair.

"Do you trust me?"

Rickard nodded vigorously, and Gustaf smiled. "Okay. If you need to stop, then say-" he paused, trying to think of a word. "-say Stockholm." 

Rickard nodded again, and Gustaf sat down in the chair in front of him. 

"From here on out, you are to call me either Mr. Åhlander or Sir. Do not speak unless spoken to. Do not meet my eyes. Your safeword is to be used whenever you need it. That is non negotiable. Do you understand me, boy?"

"Yes Sir. I understand, Sir." 

Gustaf smiled, kissing Rickard's head. 

"Good boy. I want you to pick up your clothes and fold them properly. I won't punish you for it this time, because I didn't tell you the rule, but in the future your clothes are to be treated properly."

Rickard nodded, went to pick up and fold his clothes, and once Gustaf had praised him, he ordered him to climb up onto his lap. He did, being careful not to meet Gustaf's eyes on accident.

Rickard became fully aware of how vulnerable a position he was putting himself in when he felt the cloth of Gustaf's sweatpants on his bare stomach. 

Gustaf must have sensed his sudden alarm, because he placed a hand between Rickard's shoulder blades, comforting him and holding him in place at the same time. 

"Do you need to safeword?" 

He took a deep breath, focusing on the gentle pressure between his shoulders. "No, Sir. I'm fine, Sir."

Gustaf clicked his tongue approvingly. "Okay. I am going to pull down your boxers, and hit you 20 times. I want you to count them for me. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir. I understand, Sir."

Gustaf pulled Rickard's boxers down just far enough so that his ass was revealed, and then, without warning, started.

Rickard gasped in surprise, a surprise which only deepened when Gustaf didn't bring his hand back down again, instead choosing to twist a hand into his hair and yank.

"Aren't you forgetting something, boy?"

Rickard thought for a moment, and a swat to his thigh made him remember.

"One, Sir."

"Good boy. Now, since you forgot, we're going to start that over."

They got to 13 strokes before it really started to hurt. Within that many, he felt the tension in his body and brain start to melt with Gustaf's hits. 

It was only 3 strokes later when he started to tear up, the wetness in his eyes dripping down onto Gustaf's jeans.

"S-Sixteen, Sir."

"Do you need to stop, boy?"

Gustaf sounded a bit concerned, but Rickard gasped, hurrying to reassure him.

"No, Sir! I'm fine, Sir! Please, keep going!"

Gustaf nodded, and by the time they made it to 20 Rickard was sobbing in his friend's lap.

As he stuttered out the final stroke, Gustaf manouvered Rickard up onto a better position in his lap, carefully ensuring that his sore ass wasn't being put in more pain but that he could still cry into his shoulder. 

"That's a good boy," Gustaf whispered soothingly, rubbing a hand through his hair. "You took that so well, love."

"T-Thank you, S-Sir." Rickard whimpered into the fabric of Gustaf's shirt.

"Are you... Do you need anything else from me, boy?"

"I-I-I'm not quite ready to stop yet, Sir. Please, please more."

Gustaf nodded thoughtfully. "Okay. Do you... need more punishment, or do you just want me to be in charge for a little while?"

"You in charge, Sir. Just... control me?"

Gustaf stroked Rickard's hair. "Okay, boy. Let's get something for your ass, then I'll figure out what to do with you."

After Gustaf had spread some soothing cream onto Rickard's burning ass, they returned  to the former's room and Gustaf picked up a random book from his bedside table. 

"Alright, boy. I want you to get on your hands and knees in front of me. Yes, just like that," he added as Rickard got down into the desired position.

"Now," said Gustaf, lifting up his legs and placing his feet on top of Rickard's back. "You're going to be my footrest, and stay like that for as long as I want you to."

The longer he knelt there while Gustaf idly flipped through the pages of his book, the more Rickard felt like the footrest that Gustaf meant for him to be. The weight of his Sir's feet on his back caused all the bad thoughts to leak out of his head. His mind lost any coherent thought, and the few parts of it which managed to remain were solely focused on being good for Sir. The rest... Well, furniture didn't have thoughts, did it?

When Gustaf decided that Rickard had been kneeling long enough, he marked his place in the book and removed his feet from his friend's back.

"Are you feeling alright, boy?"

"H-huh?" 

Rickard blinked, and suddenly he was back in Gustaf's room, on his hands and knees in front of the other.

"Oh, boy. You really went down, didn't you? C'mere."

Rickard tried to move, really, he did. But he just couldn't somehow, and so Gustaf sighed in affection and came to join him on the floor. He gently pulled both of Rickard's arms, then his legs, until he was no longer kneeling and instead was lying down on the floor with his head in Gustaf's lap. 

"You were such a good boy for me, Rickard. So good."

Gustaf reached over and pulled a blanket from his bed, wrapping it around Rickard tenderly. 

"Thank you, Sir," Rickard whispered, his eyes fluttering closed as exhaustion overwhelmed him.

Rickard must've dozed off for a while, because when he opened his eyes the light coming through the windows had faded. Gustaf was still there, hand curled in Rickard's hair. 

"Did you have a nice nap, Rickard?"

"Yes, Sir."

"You don't need to call me Sir anymore, Rickard. Scene's over."

"Oh, okay."

Rickard's face fell along with his voice, and Gustaf must've noticed, because he pulled Rickard up into his lap.

"It's okay, Rickard. We can do this again as soon as you need it."

Rickard nodded, relieved that this wasn't just a one time deal.

"Thank, Gustaf."

"You're very welcome, Rickard. Now, you looked so peaceful that I didn't want to wake you, but Minoo's coming over in about ten minutes. Unless you..."

Gustaf trailed off, and Rickard nodded in comprehension.

"Unless I want her to realize that I was just calling you Sir, I should probably go home."

"...Yeah."

Rickard thought for a moment.

"Sir, he said, the vulnerability from the scene still lingering in his veins. "Would you- and Minoo- mind if... if I stayed?"

Gustaf smiled happily, running a hand through Rickard's tousled hair. 

"We wouldn't mind at all." 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed.


End file.
